


Surprise

by Liz Kenobi (Amidala_Thrace)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amidala_Thrace/pseuds/Liz%20Kenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But after she got married, her apartment never seemed like home, never seemed to represent all the warm feelings she associated with belonging, unless Anakin was present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2008 Jedi Mistletoe fic exchange on LJ, and also applied to the Big Things in Life prompt "First apartment". Reserves the right to be non-compliant with the current Clone Wars TV series canon. Originally posted December 26, 2008.

Somehow, the apartment did not become "hers" until it was really "theirs."

Padmé could not have said why that was true. She had owned the spacious residence at 500 Republica ever since becoming Naboo's senior Senator. But after she got married, her apartment never seemed like home, never seemed to represent all the warm feelings she associated with belonging, unless Anakin was present. He filled every room with his boundless energy and excitement, creating warmth that she could wrap around herself like a blanket.

But whenever he was called away to fight, that warmth would begin to seep out, day by day, as though it was being slowly siphoned off. Husband and wife could rarely keep in contact with one another while Anakin was on active duty, and Padmé often had no idea from minute to minute whether he was alive or dead. She wondered if she would be able to sense something happening to him, or whether she would find out later through some clinical HoloNet report. She wished she was Force-sensitive, so that she could feel as deep a psychic connection to Anakin as he claimed to feel to her. He had assured her that if anything were to happen to her, if she were to find herself in danger, he would know even if he was halfway across the galaxy. Padmé envied that about him.

She could almost never sleep when he was away, so instead she strolled around the apartment at night, touching objects and trying to remember what it was like when Anakin came home. The familiar japor snippet, well-worn now after many years of use, was a constant companion on these evening sojourns. She rarely took it off nowadays, treasuring it as a connection, however flimsy, to her husband, and as a symbol of their love. They could not wear eternity rings or any other visible indicator of their union — such that Padmé, annoyingly, often found herself fending off advances from interested parties on the few occasions she partook in Coruscant's nightlife — so the necklace he had given her as a boy served that purpose instead. During the day she tucked it under her elaborate clothing, but at night, clad in only a light gown, she could let it dangle free. It was the only reminder she had of the warmth that permeated the apartment with Anakin's presence.

Sometimes she would pause by a particular object or location, remembering their last encounter there. Sometimes she could almost feel his arms around her, sense her skin prickling as he trailed kisses over the back of her neck and down her spine. She imagined him pressed up against the wall, helpless within her as she guided them both to release. The last time they did that, Anakin had almost knocked over a priceless vase given to her as a gift by the representative of Malastare. They both laughed over his attempts to catch it (which had only resulted in the display stand toppling as well) and Padmé's remark afterwards that she wouldn't have minded if it had broken; she hated that ugly thing anyway.

Now Padmé ran her fingers lightly over it, touching its cool surface, trying to pretend that he was behind her and that any moment, he would spin her so their lips met in a kiss. And then, depending upon how impatient he was, he might slide his hand of flesh between them, trailing it over her breasts, down to her navel and finally stopping as it met the dark curls below, finding her clit, massaging lightly until she was moaning, begging for him. Would he press her to the wall, take her from behind? Or would he simply slide inside her without preamble, setting the pace until they both exploded into climax?

She rested her head against the permacrete, one hand venturing downwards. Of all the difficulties to cope with during her husband's long absence, sexual frustration was not the most worrisome, but it certainly became a problem after awhile. They had tried one night to bring each other to satisfaction over holocomm, she watching as he grasped himself in one hand while he followed her fingers as she maneuvered them within her, but that experiment ended rather badly (and embarrassingly) when Obi-Wan had unexpectedly entered the tent. Anakin managed to preserve the necessary secrecy by pretending to be watching an erotic HoloNet vid, but overall it was an experience that neither of them was keen to repeat. Padmé still wasn't sure if the blush had completely faded from her cheeks.

Remembering that incident, she shook her head in annoyance. This was not going to work if she pictured all the times when fulfillment had gone wrong. Instead, she needed to forget the emptiness of the apartment, how cold it seemed, how it felt as though it belonged to someone else. She must think of him, of her sweet Ani, of her desire and of how long (_oh_, how long) it had been since they were last joined.

Her face still to the wall, Padmé began her ministrations once more, drawing on their last encounter and on how he had looked as she kneaded his flesh, taking him into her mouth and gently sucking. The expression on his face … she felt herself growing warm, and imagined that the fingers plucking at her nipples through her nightgown were his fingers, that the hand circling her navel and then going lower, poking experimentally into her heat was his hand. She moaned softly, finding her clit and arching into the wall at the touch, at the prickles of sensation coursing up her spine.

"Are you ready for me now?" a deep voice whispered behind her.

She jerked around, a gasp rising in her throat as she saw not the flimsy, insubstantial Anakin of her imaginings, but an Anakin brought wonderfully to life, standing before her and fumbling to release himself. His erection hanging free, he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her amazement. She tried to push aside the questions rioting in her mind as he turned her around, pressing her gently back against the wall. A huff of pleasure escaped Padmé's mouth as she felt him fill her.

"So … good," he moaned.

"Kiss me," Padmé pleaded, wanting to feel his mouth on her body, wanting to assure herself that he was really home, that he was really hers, that this was actually happening and not some cruel fantasy her subconscious had cooked up to torture her.

Anakin obliged, lifting her hair and gently laving the back of her neck. "What you were doing," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, "I didn't want to stop you. You're amazing … when you touch yourself."

"I was thinking of you." She arched against him and he thrust, both lovers pausing for a moment to enjoy the pleasure. "I missed you — so much —"

"I missed you too." Just as in her imaginings, Anakin kissed a trail down her back. "I _always_ miss you. Every moment I'm not with you, I miss you."

"Even when you're at the Temple?" she teased.

"Especially then." He began to move in earnest, drifting his hands around to clasp her breasts, her nipples puckering at his touch. Padmé leaned into his embrace, finally beginning to believe that he was here, that he was home, that he was hers. She could feel her climax building within her, but there was something she needed to ask first, some thought she needed to verbalize out of the words slipping rapidly through her mind.

"Did Obi-Wan … did you … get in trouble?" She was aware that she sounded like a primary school child who'd been caught passing notes by the teacher, but neither did she care.

"No," Anakin said breathily. "Let's not — let's not talk about that right now."

Padmé accepted this, turning her focus specifically on him, on his hands as their fingers entwined and squeezed, on the way his length slid into her and then back out again, on the soft sounds made by their skin touching. He reached down, down to where they were joined, and palmed her clit with his hand of flesh. Her skin prickled, drops of sweat moistening her hair; she didn't know to whom that sweat belonged, but a minute later the point was moot. Padmé came with a shudder, clenching around him and moaning his name, not caring how she sounded.

Her vocalizations seemed to encourage Anakin, for he sped up the pace, thrusting hard for several seconds as she listened delightedly to his breath and his soft groans. And then suddenly it was over, as with a final grunt his warm wetness poured into her. He rested his head against her hair, panting, neither wanting to relinquish the moment.

They were together, both of them, here, now, and that was all that mattered. The apartment was full again, thought Padmé, but most importantly, it was hers again. It was hers, because it was _theirs_.

"Surprise," Anakin whispered.


End file.
